


Dawn

by HouseofMacbeth



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseofMacbeth/pseuds/HouseofMacbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing exposes the shadows quite like the light of day.</p><p>(Takes place immediately following the events of 'I Promise - I Swear')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn

For the first time since he returned to Gotham, Jim Gordon sleeps through the night.

There are no dreams and no nightmares - just a solid eight hours of blissful nothingness. He simply closes his eyes one moment in physical and emotional exhaustion and opens them again to feel the early morning sun break over his neck and shoulders.

It’s a warm caress, and Jim feels himself melt further into the mattress, burrow deeper into the blankets. His vision, blurry as his brain comes back online, focuses on his bedside clock. There’s a brief moment of dread when the time penetrates the cloud hanging over his brain before he remembers the leave given to him by the Captain.

And it’s that thought that sets off a chain reaction in Jim.

He rolls, muscles suddenly tight, breath trapped in his chest. His other senses come back to him even before he finishes moving: there’s the sound of steady, sleepy breathing and the faint, stale smell of sex intermingled with a hint of mint.

Jim expects the panic when he sees the body in his bed. The pale expanse of back is turned to him. The sharp jut of spine curves up until it disappears into black hair mussed by sleep and Jim’s own hands. He can see the gentle, minute movements of his ribs, rising and falling with every unconscious breathe. His hip peaks out from the pool of blankets, baring the damning evidence of the previous night in faint red scratches over bone.

Jim expects the panic, yes. But he doesn’t expect the arousal that follows it.

He audibly groans, the sound piercing the silence of the room like a shot. The breath of the man in bed with him stutters and Jim freezes, but the stable pace resumes almost immediately.

He shifts, inch by inch, forward, until his lips graze the soft, warm skin of a slender neck. His heart hammers in his chest as he gently presses himself against the back of the sleeping man. A hand ghosts over the exposed hip, tracing the raised red lines like a silent echo. He tries to keep his breathing calm and quiet as he pulls himself flush, squeezing his eyes closed tight when his cock, already hard as fucking granite, slots into the crease of the man’s ass.

The hand on the hip slides forward, barely a whisper of touch until it reaches the groin of his still-sleeping bedmate. He can’t help but lick a long, wet line up over the ridge of spine when his fingers tighten around the half-hard member he finds.

Jim was dosed once with ecstasy when he was in his academy days: a stupid, thoughtless prank that ended with two cadets being thrown out and Jim trying to grope any and all officers and medical personal that came within five feet of him (including a couple of superior officers to Jim’s endless mortification).

He wishes he could compare then and now. He feels like if he could liken what he was experiencing now with being drugged, it would give him some sort of excuse; some leeway when it came to rationalizing his actions.

But it’s completely different. The lust is there. The urge to touch is damn near overwhelming. But with ecstasy the feelings and desires had no tether. There were no ties to him personally, just a sudden _want_. A terrible _curiosity_.

He doesn’t just want to touch the closest thing to him. This man isn’t just _convenient_.

God help him, he _wants Oswald Cobblepot_.

His control starts to slip as he begins to slowly jack the other man. His hips roll forward of their own volition, and his breathing starts to lose its steady pace. He groans again when he feels Oswald’s cock swell and harden in his hand. The other man shifts, just a little. He’s not quite awake, but his body is struggling towards consciousness. Jim moves his free arm until it rests on the pillow next to him; until he can put his hand in Oswald’s hair again. He’s sucking hickies into the warm patch of skin where neck meets shoulder and Oswald makes a low whining noise that seems to claw its way out of him, past dissipating dreams. His hips are moving now; jerky little thrusts that make Jim want howl. Instead, he pulls at him steadily, grinding against him like a dog in heat.

Impulse suddenly grips him and Jim bites one of the hickies he’s birthed.

Oswald wakes with a start and a moan.

Jim only increases the speed of his hand.

“Guuuuhhhh… J-James…?”

The voice is sleep-rough and low. Jim growls and licks at the teeth marks in Oswald’s skin. His cock is leaking, allowing him to slide along the cleft of Oswald’s ass. It’s wet and filthy and Jim fucking _loves_ it.

“Oh _Goooooooodddd_ … I… I… _James_ …” He tries to turn his head, but Jim tightens his grip in Oswald’s hair, making him keen. He mouths along the elegant neck again, dragging his lips over worried flesh, licking a trail over his spine once more.

“Oh, Jesus. Ooohhhhh fuck, James…” Oswald is writhing, caught between Jim’s hand and his cock. It makes Jim feel fucking delirious. He’s right on the edge, heat pooling just below his belly button, balls and dick aching, but not yet, not yet…

The hand on Oswald’s cock tightens and the man makes a wet, broken sound. Jim’s thumb slides over the leaking head. He’s so fucking wet and Jim is so close.

“Oswald…” he breathes out against the man’s shoulder, and he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. “Come on, Oswald. Come on. Do it. Fucking _come for me_.”

The result is instantaneous.

Oswald’s body pulls tight as a bow, head back against Jim’s shoulder, one hand with a death grip on his thigh, digging nails into skin and muscle and he’s shooting over Jim’s fist. The sound he makes is almost a scream, drowning out Jim’s own grunts as he thrusts spastically against the other man’s ass until the tidal wave crests and he comes all over the small of Oswald’s back and the bed sheets between them.

The sound of their breathing fills the room like it has a physical body. Jim can feel it pressing against his skin with every passing moment; every slowed heartbeat. Oswald still trembles against him, but he hasn’t tried to turn around yet. It occurs to Jim that the younger man has no more idea what will happen next than Jim himself. Right now he is in _his_ bed, with _his_ arms wrapped around him.

He is entirely at Jim’s mercy.

Once more, the emotion that swells within Jim is not the one he expects.

He doesn’t think about it before he does it – just leans forward and presses gentle lips against Oswald’s sweat-damp neck. The answering hitch of breath does wonders to soothe the fluttering in his chest.

Pulling away is hard, but necessary. They’re both a mess and the musk permeating the room is close to becoming unpleasant. He considers, for a moment, putting on a pair of discarded briefs, but one glance at the mess splattered across his groin and stomach renders the idea somewhat absurd. So he gets up, nude, and walks to the window, pulling the curtains open completely and sliding the glass panels back to allow Gotham’s cool autumn breeze into his home.

He stares out at the city for an indeterminate amount of time, looking down at the world from so high that it feels like an out of body experience. It isn’t until he feels eyes on him that he turns around.

Oswald watches him with an expression Jim can’t quite read, but then his eyes sweep over Jim’s body and his face relaxes, a tension Jim had almost missed leaking out of his body.

The corner of his mouth actually curves into a shy smile and his gaze darts away and back.

“It’s a brand new day,” he says finally.

Jim stares at the gangster in his bed and feels something stir within the cage of his ribs.

“Yeah,” he answers after a moment. “I guess it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> I continue to be so incredibly grateful for the response I have received for 'I Promise - I Swear'. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read and comment on the first thing I have written in absolute ages. Your support inspires me every day.


End file.
